


baby you were my picket fence

by oliviacirce



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Break Up, First Time, Hate Sex, M/M, Unhappy Ending, sex and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacirce/pseuds/oliviacirce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes before it gets better the darkness gets bigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby you were my picket fence

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings in the tags; additional warnings for bad communication, boys being stupid about each other, some minor under-negotiated kink, and the events of March 2015. This is 100% fiction, and no disrespect is intended towards the real people on whom these characters are based. Thanks to mistresscurvy, sunsetmog, helcinda, and Ashley, and to Fall Out Boy for the title and summary.

Zayn doesn't know that the boys are back in London until Louis shows up at his house at half past ten on a Wednesday night and bangs on Zayn's door loud enough to startle him awake. He'd fallen asleep on the sofa, and is rubbing sleep out of his eyes, trying to wake up enough to work out what's going on, when Louis's familiar voice cuts through the noise. 

"Open the fucking door, Malik, or I swear to god—" Louis shouts, and even though Zayn's house is set back from his nearest neighbors, almost entirely private, the last thing he wants is for someone to call the police—or, worse, the papers. 

"For fuck's sake, Lou," he mutters, and drags himself to his feet. The lights are all out, so he's not sure why Louis even thought he was home, but he turns on the light in the porch when he goes to open the door. 

Louis's got his fist raised to bang on the door again, but when he sees Zayn he drops his hands and shoves them into his pockets. "About bloody time," he snaps. His eyes are red, like maybe he's been drinking, but he doesn't look drunk; he looks sharp, and furious, and like he wants to take Zayn apart, which Zayn supposes he probably should've expected. 

"What the hell?" Zayn demands. He means it to be more forceful, but his voice comes out sounding rough. He's barely awake, and he's not nearly ready to deal with Louis. It's been twenty-one days since the last time he saw him—twenty-one days since he left the tour—and he's still not ready. He doesn't know if he ever will be. 

"It's been a while, Zayn," Louis says, dry and mocking, and shoves past Zayn into his house. 

Zayn sighs, and then he shuts the door behind him and leans back against it with his arms crossed, facing Louis down in his hall. "Come in," he says pointedly. 

Louis ignores him, and stares at him instead. Zayn's seen the look on his face before, angry and dangerous, but never directed at him. He doesn't know what to do with it, and for one desperate moment he wishes Liam were there, wishes he had someone to help him with Louis, but then he shoves the thought away. 

"What are you doing here?" he tries again. 

"I am so fucking angry at you," Louis says quietly, a thousand times worse than shouting. "I could just—" He shakes his head. 

"What?" Zayn snaps, feeling his own anger rising. "You could what? Hit me? Shout at me? Would that make you feel better?"

"Maybe," Louis says. He takes a step closer to Zayn, and then another. The hall is small, and it doesn't take long before Louis's in Zayn's space; backed up against the door, Zayn has nowhere to go. 

He narrows his eyes at Louis. "Because it's all about you, isn't it, Lou? You're the only one who gets to be angry. What I might be feeling doesn't matter at all, does it?" 

Louis shoves Zayn into the door with both hands, knocking his head back against the wood. Zayn blinks, seeing stars for a second before his eyes focus on Louis again. Louis looks incandescent, and Zayn's crossed arms between them are the only thing holding him back. "You're the one who bloody left," Louis snarls, and kisses him. 

It's not so much a kiss as it is Louis biting his way furiously into Zayn's mouth, but Zayn is so shocked that he lets him, opening his mouth under Louis's. He drops his arms and Louis presses his advantage, holding Zayn back against the door with his body. Chest to chest, Zayn can feel the harshness of Louis's breathing, and then Louis bites Zayn's lip hard enough to hurt and chases it with his tongue, and Zayn gasps into his mouth. 

"What—" His lips are buzzing against Louis's. " _Lou_ —" 

"Shut up," Louis mutters. "Shut up, just—" He catches Zayn's wrists with both hands and presses them back against the door. Zayn shivers, breathless. He has no fucking idea what is going on, but when Louis kisses him again he kisses back, meeting the angry press of Louis's tongue and his sharp teeth. 

Louis keeps Zayn's wrists pinned to the door, and pulls his mouth away to trail biting kisses down Zayn's neck. "I hate you," Louis whispers, sucking a bite into the hollow of his throat. "Your hair looks horrendous," he adds, nipping at Zayn's collarbone. "And I hate all your stupid fucking arsehole friends." 

Zayn closes his eyes; Louis's mouth on his neck is sending shivering waves of arousal down his spine. He hooks one leg around Louis's, trying to get closer. " _You're_ my stupid fucking arsehole friend."

Louis bites Zayn's shoulder, punishingly hard. "I'm not," he says sharply. 

"What?" Surprised, Zayn opens his eyes again, trying to focus on something other than how hard he is in his jeans. Louis's head is bent, his hair brushing Zayn's chin, and Zayn can't see his eyes. 

"I'm not your friend," Louis says. "You _left_." 

"Oh," Zayn says helplessly. He swallows around the lump in his throat, and tugs on his wrists until Louis releases them. He and Louis are still pressed together from chest to knee, and he can feel the insistent pressure of Louis's dick. "What are you, then?" 

Louis lifts his head, but Zayn can't read the look on his face at all. "I don't know," he says finally, almost inflectionless. "I don't know, Zayn." 

Zayn looks at him, feeling completely out of his depth—which is just bloody perfect, isn't it, because it's half the reason he left in the first place. He's known Louis and Liam and Harry and Niall for five years—knows them better than nearly anyone else in the world, loves them—but he doesn't know how to do what they do. He doesn't know how to be what they need, and he certainly doesn't know how to keep on the way he was without it eating him up until there's nothing of him left. He thought he'd made the best decision he could, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now, when this break is anything but clean. 

Except he's still hard, and Louis is still close enough that he can feel every shaky inhale, the faint quiver of his thighs, the rapid beat of his pulse. Louis's whole body is almost unbearably familiar, even if they've never been this kind of close before. "Okay," he says, and reaches out to take hold of Louis's hips. "C'mere." 

"Jesus Christ," Louis hisses, irritated and incredulous, but then they're kissing again. Zayn kisses Louis as hard as he can, and Louis returns it with interest: he plants one hand flat on the door above Zayn's head, and gets the other around the back of Zayn's neck so he can control the kiss, deepen it until Zayn is gasping into his mouth and grinding down against the knee Louis shoves between his thighs. 

Zayn pushes his hands down the back of Louis's trackies and Louis grinds up into him, his dick rubbing against Zayn's through their trousers. "Fucking—" Zayn groans, and starts wrestling with Louis's clothes in earnest. Louis distracts him by fumbling for the button of Zayn's jeans at the same time, and there are a couple of awkward, frantic minutes of confusion before they come back together, skin to skin. 

Louis gives a low, throaty moan, and grinds his dick against Zayn's; it's incredibly hot, and sort of indescribably dirty, especially when the wet head of Louis's dick skates over the hollow of Zayn's hip. Zayn's got both hands on Louis's bare arse, and Louis keeps making desperate, choked-off noises against Zayn's mouth while they kiss. 

"I hate you so much," Louis whispers, and something in Zayn breaks. He can't seem to get a full breath into his lungs, but he drags his hands off Louis's arse so that he can shove him back and get a hand down between them. Louis's dick is red and flushed, as angry as the rest of him, and it feels smooth and hot and fucking fantastic in Zayn's hand. Louis squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts into Zayn's fist. 

It's dry and rough, and more than a little awkward, but Louis doesn't seem to care. He braces himself on the door, his hands level with Zayn's shoulders, and keeps his head bowed; he's breathing hard, panting, and it's not like—after years of shared buses and bathrooms and hotel rooms and dressing rooms, it's not like Zayn doesn't know how Louis sounds when he's wanking, what he likes, how he gets off. But he never could've imagined this. Not the way Louis's got his eyes tightly closed, the way he's biting his lip, the way he's pulled back far enough that their only point of contact is Zayn's hand on Louis's dick. 

"Look at me," Zayn says, twisting his wrist. "Bloody look at me, Lou." 

"No," Louis pants, but when Zayn tightens his grip, his eyes snap open. "Fuck—" 

"Yeah," Zayn says, and moves his hand again. 

Louis shudders, but he doesn't close his eyes. Zayn watches him: his hair falling over his forehead, the familiar lines of his sharp face, his bright eyes darkened with arousal, and wanks Louis off as hard as he can, until Louis gasps, "Fuck _you_ ," and comes all over Zayn's hand. 

Still shaking, Louis slumps forward against Zayn's shoulder. Zayn wipes his hand off on the back of Louis's top, dazed. He can't tell if he's shaking, too, or if it's just proximity. He squirms, trying to catch his breath, and the movement brings his dick into contact with the crease of Louis's thigh. 

"Fuck," Zayn groans. He'd honestly almost forgotten about himself, but—fuck. 

Louis makes a cross, disgruntled noise, and then he straightens and takes a step back. Zayn whines involuntarily when he moves away, his hips arching after him until Louis rolls his eyes and drops to his knees. 

"Um," Zayn says, staring down at him. 

"Shut up," Louis says again. He slides his thumbs up and down Zayn's dick until Zayn is shaking and desperate, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, and then he lifts his chin and fixes Zayn with a fierce look. "If you say one fucking word, I'll stop." 

For one blindingly stupid moment, Zayn thinks _stop what?_ and then Louis bends his head and sucks Zayn's dick into his mouth. Zayn has just enough presence of mind to slam one hand back against the door and the other over his mouth to keep quiet—to keep himself from saying anything. Louis's mouth is warm, and softer than Zayn might've expected, but his fingers press into Zayn's hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding Zayn still while he sucks him off. 

Louis sucks Zayn's dick with furious, single-minded intensity, wet and sloppy and hot. He knows what he's doing, and it takes about ten seconds before he's got Zayn squirming against his hands and digging his teeth into his wrist so that he won't start babbling. He doesn't want Louis to stop, and Louis doesn't; Louis swallows around Zayn's dick like he's got something to prove, backs off and goes down again like he wants to suck Zayn's brain out through his dick, and Louis must get what he wants, because the next thing Zayn knows he's shouting into his hand and coming hard enough to see stars. 

It's possible that the stars are a side effect of knocking his head against the door again, but by the time Zayn comes back down to earth, Louis's got his clothes back on and isn't touching Zayn anywhere; he's just stood in Zayn's hall with his hands in his pockets. His mouth is very red, and his cheeks are still flushed, but he doesn't look touchable at all. 

"What—" Zayn croaks, and then winces at the way his voice sounds. 

Louis sweeps him with a long look, up and down and back up again, and his mouth tilts in something that's not quite cruel enough to be a sneer, but isn't nice enough to be a smile. Zayn is sure he's a sight, with his clothes half off and his dick hanging out, so he tugs his boxers back up and kicks his jeans off and finally drags himself off the door, standing up straight, utterly shaken. 

"Um," Zayn tries again, "I—" Eloquence has never exactly been his strong suit, but he did think he was better than this. It doesn't matter, though, because Louis just gives him that look again and pushes past Zayn to the door. 

"Be seeing you, Zayn," he says, and then he's out the door before Zayn can work out what to say, before he can reach out and catch his arm and make things _stop_ , just for a minute—before it's too late all over again. 

He locks the door behind Louis on autopilot, and then slides down it until he's sitting on the floor. The hall smells like sex. He's got bite marks on his wrist, and his mouth feels raw and bruised, and he can still feel Louis's fingers pressing into his hips. "What the fuck was that?" he asks the universe, helplessly, and then puts his head down on his knees. He's not counting on the universe to answer.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://oliviacirce.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/oliviacirce)
> 
> Full disclosure: this fic started as part of a much longer OT5 story set after Zayn left the band, but I decided to post it as is; this fic is a complete story, and while it's not impossible that I might someday write a follow-up—never say never!—at this point, it's very unlikely. That said, you're always welcome to hit me up on tumblr if you want to know more about things I'm not actually writing (or even things I am).


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